Raccoon City - Valentine Files
by Mlokischief
Summary: Jill Valentine was firmly enmeshed in the RPD. With a background B.A in Justice, Law and Criminology, she chose her RPD location based on a move towards quiet, idyllic life. Now her minor (fun) in Biomedical Science was being put to use as Raccoon City's summer plunged the community into chaos... My first fic! Be brutal and oh so chatty in reviews ;)


Jill lent back and ruffled her hair, passing her hand over her face frustration. The summer in Racoon City had been busy in the 'crime' department, you could call it. Except… not like last season. Not like any other season before it.

Incidents characterized by rage, insanity and cannibalism had been on the rise. Initially, RPD majorily assumed the murders and assaults were drug-induced, a new party flavoured imported from L.A., maybe New York. Their national contacts failed to match the behaviour to anything across the US currently in fashion. Not that it mattered. By then, the toxicology had come back negative, along with previous psychological profiles of the perps. Nothing suggesting affectation of brain chemistry, unless they'd be hearing of a nationwide, caffeine-induced zombie mania. "Hah!" Jill exclaimed to herself.

Serial-murders or gang manipulations were suggested. The victims and perpetrators too far apart to be likely.

The lab mentioned unusual tissue degradation to the perpetrators. Lab tech Michaels had called in Jill to take a look at the tissue. He'd said it looked viral in origin, something like the black plague with its early necrotic tissue formation. He'd had the opportunity back in college to study it during a hard-won excursion to CDC Atlanta. Jill's minor in Biomedical science was pretty scruffy, but she had to agree – it did act viral-like. So, off to specialized techs in CDC. Turns out Michaels had a 'thing' (his words) with a supervisor there. They met up whenever he just happened to be passing through.

"Lucky bastard" Jill thought. It'd been a while since she'd had a 'thing' with anyone.

All this information led Jill to burning the midnight oil in the bowels of Racoon Police Department. "Beautiful bowels, but bowels all the same" Jill thought. Decorated in art pieces ranging from philosophical to downright creepy, she had to admit that the former Museum turned Police Department had character. It was a part of what led to Jill to join the sedate Racoon City's finest – quiet, mid-western city with a charming community spirit.

Now, the Captain had informed the team to keep the information quiet, orders from on high. Prevent city-wide panic and evacuation instead of that shinning, all-American spirit. One that was slowly embroiling itself into a ravening beast…

"Well, you can't have everything. BUT, you can have coffee!" Jill declared, kicking away from her desk, sailing past partner's area, Chris Redfield. 6 foot, one inch of all American boy-next-door charm. It was his smile that caught her the most, and the way he got a little hot under the collar whenever he was valiantly trying not to look at her chest during weekly firearms training. Not that she might've been bracing her arms a little closer, under her chest. Not at all.

"Enjoue Jill!" Her mother would laugh. "No, there is nothing wrong with being a little playful", Jill thought.

She strode down the hall, knuckle-duster cup in hand, into the kitchenette. Captain Wesker had used his weight with the Chief to get premium joe in the Alpha Team budget. Jill was grateful, she couldn't pull this shift with the slop they had in her U.S Delta days. The Captain was a quiet man, direct. Brilliant in tactics with a military background and a BA in Justice, Law and Criminology – same as Jill's background. But where Jill was empathetic, idealistic and fiery, Wesker was reserved, ambitious and left you with an impression of cunning. They shared their determination and focus, but that was it.

Jill swore she could feel him staring at her, in the STARS office at times. The delicate hairs on the back of Jill's neck would rise. She never caught him directly, but in reflective surfaces. Jill also thought, on nights where caffeine didn't grace her system, that she saw a golden-red glint emanating underneath the mainstay that were Wesker's sunglasses.

She'd mentioned Wesker's stare to the rest of the team, but they all laughed it off, needling her about her perfect record and being the Captain's 'pet' role model for them. Either that or the typical comments about her ass attracting attention, one meaning or another. Hmphf, guys.

She leant against the kitchenette bench, sipping coffee, her mind musing away about the Captain. Jill walked towards the noticeboard when the hairs on the back of her neck gave their tell-tale prickle.

"Captain." Jill greeted.

"Valentine. Excellent situational awareness as per usual." Wesker commented drily, entering the room to grab a mutual cup of coffee. The Captain seized his usual cup, pristine and white. The team knew is cup by sight. Jill, in her fit of 'enjoue', wiped it with vanilla essence just to mess with the Captain's routine, attempt to ruffle his perfect blonde headspace. The result was that laser-like focus turned thoughtful, Wesker openly staring at Jill when they were alone. When she retuned his stare, Wesker smiled, growing in Cheshire size the more she scowled.

When Valentine admitted it to Chris, he laughed. "Flirtin' with the Captain hey Valentine? You know frats off regs. Tch tch."

Apparently, she continued to tickle Chris's funny-bone every time Wesker gave her a direct order, after that. Pfft.

Captain Wesker was the Department's most eligible bachelor. Six foot, three inches of blonde European model, broad shoulders on a built frame and sharp jaw. There were regular weeks when Jill would openly roll her eyes while the admin ladies drilling her for info on her "zee hawt Capitan!".

There was a hefty cash pool around the office women for the best description of Wesker's eyes, hidden under those sunglasses he perpetually wore. Jill thought if she ever saw him without them, she'd probably wouldn't recognised their fearless leader.

Fearless was accurate. There wasn't much that disturbed the Captain. He had a knack of preparing for all eventualities, no matter how outlandish. It was almost as if he possessed the foresight of the Salem witches of old.

The golden light behind Wesker's sunglasses was back, Valentine noted, glinting away as he assessed her.


End file.
